


Strong Bonds and Friendship

by afinecollector (orphan_account)



Series: Not Waving but Drowning [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Love, Caring, Epilepsy, Fit, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, JME, Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy, Seizure, Seizures, epileptic, fitting, fraternal love, mystrade perhaps?, papa!Lestrade, tonic-clonic seizure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/afinecollector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is given his first proper opportunity to get to know Mycroft, but it isn't in the way he hoped it would happen. Despite his sharpness, John silently agrees with Greg Lestrade: <i>he's a good guy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Bonds and Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boton/gifts).



“Mycroft, it’s John, John Watson.” 

Mycroft could hear an echo in John’s voice and knew that he was somewhere with terrible acoustics, somewhere quite vast, or somewhere with a lot of hard flooring. “Yes?” 

“I’m with Sherlock at the Royal. There was an accident on a case he was helping Inspector Lestrade with - he has a head injury and he’s been pitching a few fits.” John explained, glancing around him at the rush of people moving around the accident and emergency bays. “He’s still in A and E at the moment, but they’re getting him a bed on neurology. They’re looking for family, I said I’d call.” 

“Thank you, John.”

\- - - - - - - - - 

“Push more diazepam; I can’t do anything until we get this seizure under control.” 

John stood back, his hands cupped on the sides of his face, as the doctors and nurses pooled around the trolley Sherlock was on and hated the sounds of its metal poles rattling as Sherlock convulsed. It was the fourth tonic-clonic seizure in the two hours they’d been waiting here, and John was beginning to wonder if it would take Sherlock coding for them to find him a medical bed. 

“If we keep flooding him with diazepam, there’ll be no outward signs if there are complications with the head injury, Nick….” 

John agreed with the nurse. They couldn’t justify another bolus of muscle relaxants, surely, when the man had a head injury and a clinical diagnosis of epilepsy. They needed to be aware, needed to be able to keep him responsive where possible. But then John wasn’t sure he could watch Sherlock’s vicious-looking seizures go on for much longer. 

“What’re his AEDs?” 

“He’s on Lamotrigine.” 

“That’s ridiculous, the guy has JME…. Call up to neuro, we’ll have to transfer him like this.” 

“You can’t be serious! If we have him in the lift and he goes into status, we’ll be without any way of stabilising him!” 

“And until we stop the seizure, I have no way of assessing just how bad the damage is. Just push the bloody diazepam, will you? We’ll sedate him.” 

John was shoved aside by a nurse, sending him stumbling backwards a couple of steps, as the curtain was tugged around the bed just as the severity of Sherlock’s contracting limbs seemed to increase. John could hear the sound of his garbled breaths, even with the flimsy divide, and he breathed heavily in his chest. He’d avoided been around Sherlock’s tonic-clonic seizures for this long and he felt sick to be witnessing it in full force now. He walked from the bay, dragging his phone from his pocket as he did so, checking to see if he’d missed a call back from Mycroft. Of course, there was nothing. He nodded as he met Lestrade in the hallway and responded to his questioning eyebrow raise with a shake of his head and a shrug. 

“They’re giving him diazepam to stop the fit,” John said, stopping just in front of the DI. 

“Is it bad?” Lestrade asked, his face falling sympathetically. 

John nodded, “The staff seem to think so.” 

“What did his brother say?” Lestrade asked, lowering into one of the numerous seats that lined the walls near the admit station. John sat beside him. 

“Um…, he said ‘thank you’.” John pulled a face. 

“Prepare yourself, because when he gets here, he’ll be looking for blood,” Lestrade warned him. “Don’t get me wrong, I quite like the guy, but he takes no prisoners where Sherlock is concerned.” 

John sighed and clasped his hands in his lap. “I can’t even work out what happened. Did he fall, was he pushed?” 

“Fell.” Lestrade said. “I’d been watching him, he’d been having them little fits and then he just went. Usually, there’s something else - he’ll say he feels sick or dizzy, but he just dropped. He hit his head off the boot of that Astra and that obviously has made everything worse.” 

John frowned. “I didn’t even notice! I live with him, and I didn’t notice he was having these - how could I not notice?” 

Lestrade shrugged, “You’re not the only one; if you’re not looking for it, you won’t see it. I’ve been caught out with him on cases before when he’s just hit the deck. Mycroft will tell you off, insist you do some research and then surprise you by being this super-affectionate big brother type with Sherlock. It isn’t the first time, mate, and it won’t be the last. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to call his brother and confess Sherlock was here.” 

John shook his head. “I’ve only ever met Mycroft once or twice. Got to admit, he scares the shit out of me.” 

Lestrade laughed lightly but his face barely cracked a smile. “He does have that effect on people. But he’s a good guy.”

\- - - - - - - - - 

“The swelling around the impact site has gone down well in the last hour and there’s no sign of fracture, but I still don’t like his EEG - he’s having seizures every twenty minutes. It’s focal, localised to his frontal lobe mostly, and there hasn’t been any sign of generalisation. I’ll contact his consultant neurologist, discuss a medication review.” Mycroft nodded at the doctor as she spoke. “The pre-ictal activity that the Detective Inspector who came in with him described indicates that he was having simple focal seizures prior to it generalising into a tonic-clonic, the seizure that caused the fall and, subsequently, the head injury. It may be that the AED he is talking requires an adjunctive, or needs to be changed completely.” 

Mycroft offered her a nod and somewhat of a smile out of politeness as she took her leave, taking the x-ray of Sherlock’s head down from the light board before she walked away. Mycroft turned back into the room and fixed his eyes on John, standing beside Sherlock’s bed. 

“Well?” John asked. 

“No lasting damage to his brain, no skull fracture from the fall, and the swelling is decreasing. Her intention is to reevaluate his medication.” Mycroft explained robotically, approaching Sherlock’s bedside. Sherlock lay sleeping in the cot, the padded sides of the bed pulled up for protection, his body surrounded by pillowed supports to prevent injury from the seizures he’d been having consecutively. Sherlock’s head was covered, once again, in the EEG cap with electrode wires splintering off into the monitor on the left side of the bed. “He’s still having focal seizures.” 

“He has JME, he’ll always have them when he sleeps. It just seems like a lot to us because we’re not monitoring his brain when he’s sleeping at night.” John explained and Mycroft regarded him - all this time, he’d never really considered that; did Sherlock have fits even when he slept. Now that he knew the answer, it made his stomach feel heavy. “Once they wake him up, he’ll probably have a succession of myoclonic jerks before he finally feels right-side-up again.” 

“Inspector Lestrade left?” Mycroft asked, changing the subject and slowly drawing his eyes up from Sherlock and onto John’s face. 

John nodded, “Yes. Work called…” he elaborated. “He stayed until they had him transferred up here, though.” 

Mycroft nodded curtly. “Hmm, such is Inspector Lestrade’s nature. Something about my brother intrigues the man.” 

“He likes you, too, mind,” John said lightly, hoping it would cut the tense atmosphere. “Cited your accreditations as a brother.” 

Mycroft raised one eyebrow. “Yes, well. When one has a brother such as mine, one tends to need to be more involved.” He said, flexing his fingers inside of his gloves. “You can leave, Doctor Watson. I’ll stay until he’s awake and I will be in touch.” 

“I’d like to stay,” John said softly, “If that’s all the same to you?” 

“No,” Mycroft whispered, shaking his head. “Family only.” John looked a little affronted and Mycroft averted his eyes to ignore it, watching the slight twitches of Sherlock’s face as he inched his head just slightly to the right side. 

“Right - okay then.” John dropped his arms to his sides, his body tensing. His fingers drummed together at his hips. “Do, though, yeah? Contact me.” He reminded Mycroft. 

“Of course.” Mycroft nodded, his expression somewhat more sincere. 

He watched John as he regarded Sherlock again, touching his hand affectionately to Sherlock’s leg over the blankets before he turned and left, his steps measured and his shoes noisy against the linoleum floor as he walked away. He waited until he could no longer hear the measure of John’s gait before he rested his hands on the bar of the bed and looked down onto his brother like he was a two-year-old in a crib. 

“Oh, Sherlock…” He wet his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. “...why do we always end up back here?”

\- - - - - - - - - 

Within two hours of Mycroft’s arrival, the EEG had been removed and Sherlock had been propped up in the bed, looking pale and clearly experiencing a headache, but ultimately awake. For the past half an hour, he’d been seizure free, and Mycroft had allowed himself to consider that they were out of these particularly dark woods. For now, at least. 

“Make sure you finish that.” Mycroft insisted, watching Sherlock’s shaky hand place his plastic cup of tea down onto the table pulled in over the bed. “Your blood sugar levels are low.” 

Sherlock pushed his head back into the pillow, winced a little when he put pressure on his bump and exhaled quietly. “I suppose John Watson thinks I’m some kind of freak show now?” 

“He’s a doctor, Sherlock.” Mycroft frowned at him, offering a withering look. “There is nothing new to him in witnessing somebody have a seizure. He is a medical professional and can conduct himself as such.” 

“So yes, then.” Sherlock poked his tongue into the side of his cheek. “When are they letting me go home?” 

“Well not today, that’s a given. Tomorrow, perhaps. They’ll monitor your seizures through the night and I know they are keen to discuss a change in your medication.” Mycroft explained, loitering at the foot of the bed. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and it ached his brain. “I don’t want to go through that again.” 

“Well, brother mine, I do believe that this a decision you haven’t got much control over. The lamotrigine is not working.” Mycroft said firmly. “Weaning it down and beginning another anticonvulsant drug might be the way to gain control over incidents like this. It is possible to be seizure free with your medication being balanced, Sherlock.” 

“Not with JME,” Sherlock said sleepily. “We’ve discussed this before; having three seizure types makes it hard to control. No one drug is able to blanket them all.” 

“Is it not worth trying?” Mycroft asked, tilting his head. 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’ve got the strength.” 

“Oh, Sherlock. You have more strength than you give yourself credit for. You’re living a life without heroin right now - did you imagine that would be the case six months ago?” Sherlock swallowed hard and it echoed in the quiet room. “Think it over.” Mycroft suggested, “And, in the meantime, get some rest. I’m going to step out a moment, I have my end of a promise to uphold.” 

“With whom?” Sherlock asked, following Mycroft with his eyes. 

Mycroft smiled privately before looking to his brother. “A friend of yours.”

\- - - - - - - - - 

"He-llo," John said at length, muting the television with the remote as he answered his phone. 

"John? Mycroft." 

"Mycroft, hi - how's Sherlock?" John asked, fidgeting in his seat, eager for good news and nearly yelled down the phone when Mycroft took his time in responding. 

"Oh, much better. No further seizures. He's awake and he's resting." 

John exhaled in relief. "That's great. Are they keeping him tonight?" 

John frowned, pulling the phone away from his ear to examine the screen, and rolled his eyes when he realised that the line hadn't gone fuzzy, but Mycroft had hung up. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to be entirely angered - Sherlock was okay and, as he'd promised to do so, Mycroft had called him to tell him he was awake. He wasn't sure he completely agreed with Lestrade's summation of Mycroft - he wasn't sure he was a 'good guy' - but he could tell he was a good brother.


End file.
